


A Rough Ill-Favored Thing

by Meridians_of_Madness



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Comfort Sex, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Hair-pulling, M/M, Regency, Rough Sex, Unrequited Love, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 02:14:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30014571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridians_of_Madness/pseuds/Meridians_of_Madness
Summary: Aziraphale's best friend is in a bit of a mood, so Aziraphale helps out, as angels are wont to do. Crowley, on the other hand, is desperately in love with his best friend and takes what he can get.-Written for the kink meme prompt foundhere.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 79





	A Rough Ill-Favored Thing

_Soho, 1802_

Aziraphale supposed it made sense, after a fashion. Crowley was the First Tempter, and though he was certainly no Father of Lies, he would easily rank as some lesser relative, the First Cousin of Lies, perhaps.

No wonder his demon always thought he was so very subtle and sly. He tricked most of the world with a nod and a wink, and so of course he believed he could fool his oldest friend the same way.

Aziraphale looked on politely as Crowley stalked the new bookshop, weaving between the pillars supporting the mezzanine with a slinky gait he likely thought menacing. Outside, the winter wind howled, no fit night for angel or demon, but inside the fire crackled away merrily, nothing wrong with the world at all except for Crowley's sour looks.

It was some matter at Parliament that had gone, Crowley kept saying, exactly right. Everything running according to plan, and wasn't that all _wonderful_ , and wouldn't Hell be _pleased_ and –

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, because enough was enough. _“Crowley.”_

“What?” Crowley glared from behind his smoky quartz lenses. “Honestly, angel, no more _it'll be all rights_ or _I'm sure you'll do fines,_ if you please.”

“Oh, of course not,” said Aziraphale mildly. “I was only thinking that perhaps you might felt better if you fucked me.”

There was that half-hitch of shock in Crowley's gait before he went still, and Aziraphale hid a smile. Oh, but his demon was so very obvious, wasn't he?

“Might do,” Crowley allowed, and Aziraphale rose from the chair, gesturing for Crowley to take his place.

“I know you, you old fiend,” he said with only a hint of friendly condescension. “You've worked yourself into a state, and now there is only one way to tend to it.”

“You always take such good care of me, angel,” Crowley said with a twisted smile.

“Oh come now, if you would only cultivate a taste for good theater or good food, I would have other ways to lend succor and aid. So far as I can tell, however, this is the only one that has even a glancing chance of lifting you out of your moods. I don't suppose you _have_ developed a taste for the theater?”

“Not so far as I know,” Crowley said. “Suppose it'll have to be the fucking.”

“I suppose it must,” Aziraphale said with a smile, tugging fussily at his trousers before starting to go down on his knees. To his surprise, Crowley laid a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head.

“What's this?” Aziraphale asked curiously. “Have you come around to the idea of a good coffee and cake after all?”

Crowley's hand played nervously at Aziraphale's lapel, plucking at the fabric as if he wasn't sure he was allowed. Honestly, silly demon. As if angels gave a toss about touching.

“'s bad mood,” he muttered. _“Really_ bad. I might want something more than and a suck and a fuck.”

“ _Really bad_ indeed,” Aziraphale huffed with fond exasperation. “Then do tell. What will bring you comfort, my dear?”

Even with the shielding of Crowley's lenses, Aziraphale could tell that the demon's eyes were darting back and forth. Crowley bit his lip hard before speaking.

“I want you standing up and bent over. I want you in front of the window with the sash drawn up.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“And naked too, I suppose.”

“Yeah. And naked, all the way.”

Crowley was fair shaking, and Aziraphale could tell that a release was exactly what he needed.

“You know this is fine, right?” he said gently. “Really. There's nothing wrong with this, under the eyes of Heaven or Hell, The precepts are very clear. Angels are meant to give aid howsoever they choose, and demons are meant to take without remorse. Taking and giving, it could not be more clear.”

“I know we're not breaking any _rules,”_ Crowley spat. “I know the bloody _rules,_ angel. Get on with it.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, because Crowley was going to owe him some hot dinners after this bout of gloom and doom, but he understood. Of course he did. He was an angel, compassion incarnate, and this particular calling was no real chore

He stripped to the skin, laying his clothes with care on the seat of the divan, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Crowley watching him with what he likely thought of as _predatory intent._ It would have been terrifying if Aziraphale was a hare or a rat, perhaps, but instead he was a principality, designed for good and for guardianship, and above all for love.

When he was naked, he turned back to Crowley with a smile.

“Well, dear, what are you – ah!”

Crowley reached out and seized one tender pink nipple, pinching it tight between two fingers and drawing forward. Unprepared, Aziraphale gasped at the sudden sharp pain, stumbling forward automatically to alleviate the sting, but Crowley was already drawing him to the window.

“Come on,” Crowley growled. “Might as well show all of Soho what kind of tart keeps house here.”

Aziraphale sighed as Crowley bent him down over the shelf in front of the window, his hands braced on the wood and the whole of the nighttime street displayed before him. In the reflection of the glass, he found himself rendered in detail, an exasperated but fond expression on his face. Behind him, Crowley looked feverishly intent as he raked his sharp nails over Aziraphale's thighs and buttocks, spreading them to expose what was between.

_Goodness, he really is in a state,_ Aziraphale thought, and he resolved to bear what came next with kindness and good cheer. Crowley had certainly had little enough of either in these past few years.

“Look at you,” Crowley muttered. “Just bloody _look_ at you. Guardian of the Eastern Gate, Lieutenant Aziraphale, God's own representative on Earth, and you'd let me fuck you to pieces in front of all of Soho.”

This time of night, the street was utterly empty, but Aziraphale didn't point that out.

“Of course I would, my dear,” he said soothingly, but Crowley reached forward to take a rough handful of his hair, pulling his head back.

“Tell me,” he said, intent. “Tell me what you would let me do to you.”

Oh, it was going to be one of those nights, wasn't it?

“I would let you fuck me until I cried,” Aziraphale offered, though he was never one for crying. Messy business, and he would generally prefer not.

“What else?”

“Oh, well, I would let you fuck my mouth, I would let you spend on my back.”

He would, too. Cleanup was never so easy as when he could take care of it with a quick swallow or a damp flannel.

“What _else?”_

“Oh Crowley, shall I say it?” he asked teasingly, and Crowley gave his hair a ferocious yank.

“Say it, or I'll – I'll –“

“I want you to split me open,” Aziraphale murmured. “I want you inside me, darling, I want you close and I want you to _claim_ me, and _mark_ me, of course I do.”

Crowley groaned desperately at those words, letting go of Aziraphale's hair so abruptly it made him dizzy. While he was recovering his equilibrium, Crowley went around behind him, landing a hard smack on his thigh.

“Open up,” he said, and obediently, Aziraphale spread his legs, squaring up to take what was apparently going to be a rather vigorous fucking.

There was something slick on Crowley's fingers as he slid them between Aziraphale's cheeks, but his motions were too fast to be kind or comfortable. He started with two fingers and moved to three too quickly, shoving hard enough that Aziraphale huffed impatiently at the feel of Crowley's knuckles pressed against his flesh.

_Dramatic thing,_ Aziraphale thought, even as he moaned and braced himself against the onslaught.

Across the street, there were a pair of drunks making their way home. Arm in arm, they didn't even look in the bookshop window. Aziraphale doubted they would give a toss if they did see, but Crowley's breath shortened at the sight of them.

“How about them?” he asked in what he likely imagined was a cruel way. “Would you like it if I brought them in here, let them fuck you? I could get a line going, charge admission. Wouldn't _you_ be a sight with all that spunk dripping down your legs and hitting the floor?”

Aziraphale flinched at that because the floors were mahogany and rather dear, but Crowley must have mistook it because he paused.

“Would you like that, angel? Taking every man who walked in that door up your arse or in your mouth?”

Aziraphale frankly didn't care how many men had him as long as they paid some mind to his new floors, but he shook his head. He knew what the precious demon wanted to hear, and he made his voice soft and small.

“No, Crowley. Only you.”

Crowley drew his hand away with a sloppy sound, seizing Aziraphale's plush hips hard enough to bruise. Then his hot prick pushed against the way he had opened so crudely, and Aziraphale pressed back against him, bearing down to take it better. It was a trick he had learned from a very sweet lad in the Dark Walks, oh, when was that? 1750? 1752? A while back, anyway.

Aziraphale sighed as Crowley thrust into him, hands tight on his waist. Crowley's bony hips were sure to give him a sore rear tomorrow, and that wasn't even mentioning other, more sensitive places that would be quite raw. Honestly, it was a good thing he liked Crowley so very well; he wouldn't so graciously take this from just anyone.

“Tell me it's good, angel,” Crowley said through gritted teeth. “Tell me how well you like it, how good it feels.”

“You feel so very good,” Aziraphale said agreeably, his voice steady save where it was juddered by Crowley's thrusts “Utterly perfect, my dear, so good and wonderful and adored. It's just exactly right, just perfect.”

That did it as it so often did, no matter what kind of bullying swagger Crowley liked to put on. Crowley sobbed, burying himself as deeply in Aziraphale's body as he could, and he shuddered as he came. Demons' spend, as Aziraphale had had plenty of occasion to learn, was hot with a peculiar sharp sting to it, and no matter the miracle, he would feel it for days after.

Crowley leaned down to rest his cheek against Aziraphale's back, taking several long breaths before gently kissing Aziraphale's damp skin and standing again. Aziraphale could still remember when just a kiss had been enough to turn Crowley's mood right around, but they had all changed in the last six thousand years. Aziraphale certainly didn't mind.

Aziraphale made a tutting sound as Crowley pulled out of him. He was wet and dripping, but before he could stand, Crowley put his hand right against it, smearing the mess over Aziraphale's rear, fucking the opened hole with two fingers before pulling away again.

“Leave it,” he said as Aziraphale rose. “Put your clothes on over.”

Aziraphale gave him a tolerant smile, but did as he was asked, putting his clothes on over Crowley's spend and his own sweat.

“You're very lucky that the girl I brought in to do my laundry is a wonder with wood ash soap,” he said lightly, and Crowley, already dressed and clean again, nodded distractedly.

“I want to go out,” Crowley said. “Let's go out, angel. I'll buy you some oysters, all right? Whole bucketful if you like. There's this place south of the river, they do whelks, I want to buy some for you.”

Aziraphale fairly beamed to see Crowley in such a better mood.

“Why, that sounds positively splendid, my dear. What a darling you are.”

“Yeah, that's me,” Crowley said faintly. “Just a perfect gentleman.”

It would be rather too obvious what they had been doing, given Aziraphale's rumpled, stained clothes and the smell of them together. In other circumstances, it would have offended Aziraphale's sensibilities mightily, but oh, Crowley looked better, and that, he thought, was worth any number of extra laundry days.


End file.
